How to remove pasta sauce
by happyfassadevilman
Summary: Germany wants to get rid of the pasta sauce Italy's been leaving everywhere, so he asks England for help..
1. Chapter 1: Help needed

Germany was in a rut. He'd had it up to his ahoge with Italy (wait he doesn't have an ahoge). Either way, he was sick of Italy and his constant pasta. There was pasta sauce everywhere and do you know how hard it is to get it out of fabric? Italy had smeared his way through countless uniforms of Germany's, and he'd had enough.

He picked up the phone and called England, "Hey, you inselaffen."

"What is that?" Said England even though he had already looked it up on Wikipedia and was currently writing a list of ways to kill Germany.

"Do you know how to get pasta stains out of clothes?"

There was a silence on the line. Then England started laughing.

"Ha ha ha ha no. Deal with it, you jerry." And he hanged up.

Germany cursed and dialled the number again.

"Listen here!" He boomed, " You're going to help me, because you know all that pansy stuff like cleaning up pasta sauce!"

"Uhh.. Okay" Said England dully. "Okay. Meet me up in the central park."

Germany put the phone back on the hook, grabbed his coat (one of the few not covered in sauce) and strolled out the door before Italy could notice.

At the park, he found England waiting for him with his car.

"Hope in," England said, nodding at the car.

"Where are we going?" Asked Germany suspiciously.

"To meet some friends of mine," Upon noticing Germany's hesitant gaze, England added quickly, "Do you want my help or not?"

Germany scowled and climbed into the passenger seat with an awkward nod.

England hopped into the front seat and the drove off in a painful silence. Germany sat and watched the scenery go past with dull interest. There were lots of green paddocks and every so often they'd drive through a small forest. Was England taking the scenic route to toy with him, or was this really the right path?

As if hearing his thoughts, England spoke up, "We're almost there."

Germany sighed a sigh of relief which turned into a gasp as he saw the house they were drawing up in front of. Well, it wasn't what you'd call a house. It was a massive mansion. And England knew the people that lived here? Germany's eyes boggled as he took in the fancy front yard that they were now turning in to.

The large doorway to the house opened and a skinny man in black stepped out. He was wearing glasses and had slicked black hair. He appeared to be a butler.

"Greetings!" England called from the car as he parked. The butler nodded and stood watching them.

"Hey, hey, who is that?" Germany whispered to England, feeling nervous under the butlers gaze.

"Oh, that's just Claude. Don't let him put you off; he's a nice chap, really. He takes care of ducks."

"I see.." Germany said slowly, not really seeing at all.

They got out of the car and strode towards Claude.

"This way, sirs." Claude said in a voice that made Germany think of a duck. Maybe he'd spent so much time hanging around with ducks that he'd began to act like one. Well, whatever.

They walked inside and the large doors shut behind them.


	2. Chapter 2: Meeting the friends

Inside the mansion was darkness. Germany blinked a few times, trying to adjust his eyes. The butler had completely disappeared in the darkness, but his voice rang out from somewhere nearby.

"To the left," The voice said, and Germany faintly felt a song rising in his memory. But he shook it off and followed England closely, not wanting to get lost.

There was a light in the distance, which they hurried towards. Closer, closer, and Germany had to shut his eyes from the sudden flash of light.

When he opened them again, he saw a kid in front of him, along with a man wearing a funny hat and long robes. Germany stared at this strange ensemble. They were England's friends? He knew England was a nut, but not a big enough nut to make friends with a kid wearing booty shorts and a man with long silver hair.

"Ole," Said the boy. As a confused look crept across Germany's face, the boy continued, "Ohh~le!" He motioned at the silver haired man.

"Good day," said the man in a highly attractive voice. Germany nodded nervously in response.

"This is Undertaker." Said England, pointing at the man. Germany looked at England and then at Undertaker. What sort of name was that? It didn't really make sense, but whatever, Germany and England were anthropomorphised countries, so who cares about sense, right?

Undertaker grinned and bowed in an exaggerated manner.

"And that's Alois. He owns this mansion," England said, waving at the kid, who responded with a loud "ole!".

"Oh.. Uh.. Thanks for.. having me over," said Germany, wondering why the kid was speaking Spanish. Alois nodded, said "Ole!" again and started cleaning his nails. Germany looked back at Undertaker, who was still grinning at him.

"Um, so you're the one who'll help me clean up the pasta sauce my stupid roommate put everywhere?"

"Yes, indeed." Said Undertaker, "For a price, I shall help."

"A price?" Germany looked at England quickly, an expression of horror and suspicion on his face. "What price? You didn't mention a price, you jerk!"

England smiled, raised his big hairy eyebrows in amusement, and waved Germany's worries off. "It's okay. It's not anything bad. I promise." His grin was less than comforting, but Germany slumped in defeat.

"Okay," He said, "tell me what I have to do."


	3. Chapter 3: Chickens

"Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"I've heard this one."  
>Germany was still in a rut. In order to learn the secret to cleaning pasta sauce, he had to tell Undertaker a hilarious joke. Unfortunately, none of Germany's jokes were hilarious. He tried to make a joke about bratwurst, he tried to make a joke about hamburgers and he tried to make a joke about Scotland. But the Undertaker only grimaced or rolled his eyes. It seemed Germany was in trouble.<p>

"OK, so, how about this one..."  
>"Heard it."<p>

"But I didn't even get to say it!"

Undertaker sighed and leaned back in his chair. "That is because every joke you have told me so far..." He gave a grin that was not at all sympathetic, "has been terrible. Ahhh~ These horrid jokes! Ah, I feel I am losing my sense of humour!" Undertaker waved his arms around dramatically, before settling back in his chair with a smirk.

Germany slumped, his hands balled into fists. So what if he wasn't funny? He always knew he wasn't funny, he'd been told that so many times. So he wasn't funny like England or America or Japan… At least he was smart and attractive! Surely that was more important than making money! But, alas, not in this situation. He sighed and tried to think of another joke as an uncomfortable silence fell across the room. Germany tried not to look around, lest he see the pitiful gazes of those watching him. He could do it… he could! He had to...!


	4. Germany's Joke

But Germany had no ideas.

Undertaker's smirk was starting to frustrate him. He wanted to punch that dumb smile in.

So he took a deep, deep breath and made up a joke.

"What do you get when you cross a shaggy old dog and a mortician?" He said carefully, trying to hide the I'm-so-great smile that was creeping over his face.

"I'm not sure," Said Undertaker very slowly, "What DO you get?"

Germany looked triumphant. "A smelly, hairy undertaker!" He almost burst out laughing. _Man, I'm so good!_ He thought as he looked around the room to gauge everyone's reactions.

Everyone peered at him with a confused face. Germany's smile wavered and he turned to Undertaker. Undertaker wasn't smiling. He looked somewhat confused too. Germany's smile completely vanished, replaced by an exasperated look.

"I meant you." He said to Undertaker.

The penny dropped. Everyone's eyes went wide and a collective "ohhhh!" spread through the room.

Undertaker tilted his head as if in thought and then began to laugh.

Upon hearing this laugh, Germany smiled optimistically.

"Oh my!" Undertaker gasped in between cackles, "What a delightfully pathetic attempt to offend me! And in the form of a joke no less! Ah ha ha! How sad! How deliciously sad!"

Germany's shoulders sunk. Sad? Really? Was he that pathetic?

Undertaker wiped the tears underneath his shaggy mane and grinned. "I'll help you out."

Germany didn't look up, not hearing Undertakers response. Thoughts of "pathetic!" spun around in his head.

Undertaker sniffed and took a big breath before repeating, "Germany, I will help you with your problem."

This time Germany _did_ hear Undertaker's words. His head shot up in surprise and he stuttered, "R-really? You will?!"

Undertaker nodded, amusement written all over his face. "Yes. Your joke was, how should I put it... Ah, yes. It was abysmal. But, I commend your attempts at being rude to me, and so I will assist you." Undertaker rose from his chair and waved his hand with flourish. "Let us be going."


End file.
